


Another Afternoon

by Amberlioness



Category: Original Work
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 21:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13726761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amberlioness/pseuds/Amberlioness
Summary: This is a short vignette I wrote a lifetime ago and recently discovered.  It's a moment in time between two lovers who while experiencing great intimacy, do not fully connect.  This is a departure from the fanfic I've posted here  on AO3.  Feedback is appreciated and welcomed.





	Another Afternoon

I find myself thinking of him, often. Always. So rarely does he leave my consciousness. This would be hell were it not he that fills that consciousness. 

When last I was with him, we lay together intertwined after we made love. It was another winter afternoon. Unseasonably warm. Perfect. A million thoughts run through my mind, yet none of them materialize on my lips, every one of them eclipsed by the stillness of the moment. I lie in his arms, curled up close to him, warm skin touching warm skin, my head on his shoulder. He openes his arms to me, inviting me there, which wasn’t always the case. 

I move to lay my cheek against this chest. Soft rich hair, his scent, the feel of his skin against mine, I revel in these things. I cannot stop touching him, stroking my hand along his side and over his chest. I want to have my mind and my body remember him forever. I am warm and wet from his pleasure, and mine. 

He suddenly pulls me closer to him, holding me tightly for a moment in a gesture of true affection. Real affection, there is no doubt of it. I do not know if I can call it love. I do not know if it’s less than that or if it’s more. His fingers slowly trace patterns on the small of my back. He pulls me close again and kisses my forehead. I look up at him and smile, and he smiles back. His hair is tousled and the expression on his face as though he’s at a loss for words. This is often the case with him. It’s so strange, that a man who can put words together on paper (or email as the case may be) with extraordinary eloquence and effectiveness, can be so quiet at significant moments. Perhaps the energy between us has more power than the written word. Even though he may not be spelling out his words, I feel them. Or perhaps I am only filling in the words I’d like to hear. 

Nevertheless, I lay there in his arms as he drifts into a light sleep. I thought he must trust me greatly. To be given custody of another like that, if even for a brief time, is an awesome thing. My arm is draped over him, occasionally stroking up and down his side. I feel the soft crinkle of his chest hair against my cheek. If my mind would quiet for a moment, I could hear his heart beating in his chest. Proof positive he is a mortal man, at least in this incarnation. This moment is an eternity that can’t last long enough. All of what I feel, jumbled and deep, I pour into my touch. I hope he can feel what I cannot say. It’s not really silent, as music plays lightly in the background. But, for me, my whole field of vision. My whole awareness is only him as bounded by the confines of the bed. It is a moment when the real world and the world outside of time intersect.

I keep looking at his feet. Perfect. Balanced. Athletic and aesthetic. Of course I see all of his body in between his chest where my head lays and his feet. But, for some reason his feet fascinate me. It is not a desire to touch them. It is something else, and the meaning eludes me.

My gaze is focused on his lips as he wakes and openes his eyes. Soft. Perfect. I move to kiss him, a thing I cannot stop doing this day. His kisses move from deep and slow to wild and wicked, changing pace and theme. But this time, it was mostly slow, deep, and satisfying, while not quite taking the edge from that hunger.

It is no mean feat to maintain this relationship. It defies explanation and justification. The absolute wrongness has an equal degree of rightness about it. How we fit when we should not. How we have loved when we cannot. When we should not. When we are forbidden to. I would risk so much, and have, for a simple gesture of affection, him stroking the small of my back as he drifts off to sleep.

It is in those rare moments that he hides the least from me. I felt what gives him strength, and what weakens him. In both cases it is love. I am deeply honored by how he shares this with me. Not his whole self, but this one piece, this one glimpse. This bit of intimacy either one of us rarely gives to another. That moment continues, and keeps me in his thrall. I am challenged to defy the odds, do the Impossible, to love beyond sense and reason. And always, keep this moment sacred.

He truly is the god of my idolatry.


End file.
